Morris tribune., 1887-01-05
THE MISER'S REFORM.

lived or died, but IstilI kept on with
my business, and presently | found
myself beginning to love money. 1t
became the greatest pleasure Of my ex-
istenCe to count up gains, and to add
dollar to dollar.
The house | had furnished so pretti-
y for Marie, and which she had taken
such pride in, left to itself began to
show signs OF neglect. For o time
retained the old housekeeper to bright
en- things up and keep them tidy, but
that luxury cost too much, and l dis
missed her.
Then, not liking to see the pretty
things which had been so dear to Ma
rie go to decay through dust and neg
lect, | mad them carried tip to the
great garret that extended the whole
length of the house. For q time [ did
feel very unhappy when they were all
banished, and was left with the bare
boards and two or three chairs, but
consoled myself by the reflection that
some day l would have them all back
again.
turned the once cheerful room in
which | had spent so many pleasant
houls with my wife and little one in
to a sort OF second office, and there
slept, ate my scanty meals and did
much OF my work. 1t was a sOrdid,
sorry life. denied myself every com
fort, almost, but that of fire, in the
dead of winter. That | would have,
and of the best hickory, no matter
what it cost. Meats and delicaCies
could do without, books and comforts
OF many sorts, but a fire-that was
the one link that bound me to the in
stincts of my kind.
grew shabby, lean and ugly. My
hair began to stand up on my head
through lack of moisture, my eyes
grew hollow, my cheeks were sunken,
and looked like what | was, miser
To gather gold, to count it, to gloat
over it's accumulation, and that for
it's own worshiped sake, became the
ruling passion of my life. Not houses
and lands and friends that might have
been bought. but gold, gold, gold!
For this | shaved, neglected my kind,
and denied my God.
| shall never forget Tuesday, the
thirteenth day Of January, Ammo
Domini eighteen hundred and sixty
seven. That is the way | have writ
ten it down in my daybook.
Imagine me coming to my solitary
house, in the lower part Of the great
city of New York, hemlned in by ware
houses. | say, imagine me in my thin
coat buttoned over pocket book as
plethOric as | was lean, entering the
unpainted and cobwebbed front door
and walking through the large hall,
solacing myself with the thought that
| should soon be comfortable in front
ola blazing fire, and finding as opened
the door to my own den, a great red
flame upon the hearth. and covering
over it the thin, almost skeleton form
OF child.
Shall | ever forget the unearthly
look of the great, dark eyes as she
turned toward me? Eyes that see n
ed to light up the very corners OF the
room to my frightened, excited fancy.
l came forward slowly; she never stir
red, only continued to gaze at me
with a strained, pitiful expression.
until she spoke, seeing | came to a
pause.
"Oh, the fire is so good"
"What do you mean? Who are
you? How did you get here?" Task
ed sternly.
II crawIed in through the bars, down
into the cellar. guess | staid there
all night. Oh, it was SO dark and
cold! But Pm used to that, now.
Then | found the cellar door and it
was open, and so | came here and
there were Goals on the hearth and |
made fire"
If the child had not been pretty, l
am sorry to say pretty in spite of the
CRIME and rags, and marks of hard
living. and perhaps brutal treatment,
or if she had come there in any other
fashion, at the door as a mendicant,
or had she ever been sent by a friend,
| should have expelled her on the in
stant: but she had thrown herself up
on my bounty-the fire lit up the dark
eyes that made me think OF my own
little pet-she had prepared an agree
able surprise by making the fire, for |
was very cold, and she did not seem
in the least afraid of me.
"Where do you belong" | asked.
II don't belong anywhere"
"WelI, who takes care of you? Who
do you like WITH"
II don't live with anybody. l
havn't got any home. Mother and
father died long ago, and Pm all
alone"
Her words and manner touched me,
but avarice was tugging at my heart.
| grudged this poor mite the little food
she would require.
"Well, you've got warmnow Ican't
keep you here any longer-there is the
way to the door," l said.
She rose up, holding the rags OF her
shawl together, and then | saw that
her arms and chest were bare, for her
dress was q summer one, probably
some gossamer thing which had been
given her. She. looked at me pleading
ly, and for the life OF me could think
of nothing but the eyes OF my dead
child.
"Fancy if this was your own little
Kitty"
The thought rushed over me as
followed her to the door, and my
heart began to beat furiously.
As opened the door cold wind
blew in that chilled me. TO the core,
and the child looked pitifuEy up to
me again. couldn't stand it. took
her by the shoulder and led her back
to the fire, and, although l did not
know it, the tears were rolling down
my cheeks. |, who hadn't wept since
l laid my darlings together in their
last cold bed.
The child stayed that night, and
was quite ready the next morning to
go out and beg; but the good angel
who stood at my side the night before
prompted me again.
"Do you think you could do any
u